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My Boy: …

My Boy: …

The three dots flash on, then off again three times before his reply finally comes through.

My Boy: It’s nice of you to offer, but I already prepaid for my bus ticket.

Me: You’re not taking the bus, it’s dangerous.

My Boy: …

My Boy: …

Those fucking dots make anger surge up from my stomach until I’m gritting my teeth to stop myself from growling. I’m not interested in his stupid arguments. If I say I’m driving him home, then I’m driving him home.

Checking my watch, I growl when I realize that it’s been three minutes since I last texted him, and he hasn’t replied. I want to go to him and demand he come with me, but even if I drive down to town now, he’ll still have over an hour left to work before I can make him leave with me.

Unsure what else to do, I continue to pace, staring at the screen of my cell and willing him to reply. When he hasn’t five minutes later, I text him again.

Me: I’ll be waiting when you finish work to take you home. Do not try to leave without me.

After I hit send, I shove my cell into my pocket. It doesn’t matter if he replies or what kind of argument he has to try to convince me he doesn’t need a ride. It’s happening, and there’s nothing he can say or do to change that.

Grabbing my keys, I throw open the front door, then slam it behind me. The Barnett’s live in a massive house just up the hill from the cul-de-sac of homes that me and the rest of the smoke jumpers live in.

Personally, I don’t really understand their desire to share space with their family, but all seven Barnetts, and their wivesand kids, live in one massive family home. In the time that I’ve been in Montana, they’ve added several additions to the main log home to allow for their growing families, but they still all eat together every night in the original house.

I’ve been their guest for meals, barbecues, parties, and get-togethers dozens of times. They’re sociable folk who enjoy entertaining their friends and ridiculously large family. So, without a second thought, I stride up the hill and knock on their front door without worrying about invading their personal space.

Beau Barnett, the oldest of the Barnett brothers, answers the door cradling a small baby in his arms. Honestly, I’ve lost count of how many kids the brothers actually have, but the baby Beau is holding could be his, or it could be one of his many nieces or nephews. I’m sure once they all grow up, I’ll learn their names and who is who, but babies all kind of look alike, so I don’t bother trying to recognize which one this is.

“Hey, Anders, are you okay?” Beau asks.

“Hey, Beau, I’m good thanks. Is Penn or Bay at home?”

“Sure, Penn is here. Come on in and I’ll let him know you want to see him,” Beau says, pushing open the front door and gesturing for me to follow him in.

Closing the front door behind me, I follow Beau into the huge living space that is strewn with toys and baby paraphernalia.

“Take a seat. Do you want a coffee?” Beau asks.

“Sure. But you have your hands full, I can make my own if you point me in the direction of the mugs?” I offer.

“Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee machine,” Beau says with a laugh, crossing the room to one of the doors that once led to a bedroom but now serves as the entrance into an apartment that’s built straight off the main house.

The layout of the Barnett home is crazy. The seven bedrooms that once belonged to the brothers now all lead to apartmentsof varying sizes. I’d love to see a floor plan of the whole place, because I’ve never actually been past the main shared space of the original house.

“Hey Anders, is everything okay?” Penn asks as he emerges through the door to his apartment a few minutes later in sweatpants, his hair disheveled and appearance rumpled.

“Hey, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” I ask, filling a mug with coffee, then taking the bottle of creamer from Beau when he appears beside me holding it.

“No, it’s fine. Poppy is sick. She’s been up puking all night. The doctor thinks it’s just a bug and she should start to feel better soon, but I hate it when any of my girls are sick.”

“Man, I should have called first. It’s fine, go back to your family,” I tell him, putting my mug of coffee on the counter as I turn to leave.

“Anders, you came up here for something. So, what’s up? Poppy and Lulu are asleep, and the others are with Cora and Huck. I’ve got time.”

Inhaling sharply, I nod and reach for my coffee again, like the caffeine will make this less weird. “I wanted to talk to you about Henry.”